


Good Boy

by PGT



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Begging, Chastity Device, Desk Sex, Dom/sub Play, F/M, Femdom, Fisting, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prostate Massage, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:55:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26627869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PGT/pseuds/PGT
Summary: Grog has to wait to earn his reward, but for her, he's happy to.
Relationships: Grog Strongjaw/Pike Trickfoot
Comments: 2
Kudos: 47





	Good Boy

**Author's Note:**

> My trans ass: yeah thats probably what a prostate orgasm feels like?  
> anyway grog is babey and he would let pike do anything to him thats facts

Grog whined. It was a sound most people never got the joy of hearing, one Pike had the honor to hear on a regular basis. She didn’t have to look up from her work-- a great deal of architectural rights for a new temple in Kraghammer-- to know what the cause had been.

He sat in the plump armrest built specifically for him in the Trickfoot-Shorthalt manor, as most of the furniture was suited for their shorter figures. His chair, suited to fit his size and personality, was of a fine leather, with a broad back that he could sink into after a good fight, and after a great deal of begging, a small divot where a flagon could rest within the armrest. He did not sit here after the exhaustion of a fight, however. Today had been a far different kind of endurance test for the humble goliath.

“What’s wrong, buddie?” Pike smirked at her little desk, though she refused to look up immediately. If she did, he’d give her those puppy eyes she couldn’t bear to resist. As it was she could hear the squeak of leather as he readjusted in his seat, and the faint tinkle of lock against metal latch. She tried to focus on the words written before her, in the unfathomably complicated dwarven script, in the jargon of legal text… And he whined again, before she could even get a sentence further.

“Pike...”

“You said you could wait until I was done, Grog,” she feigned disappointment, lacing it through her words though she hid a fond smile with her bowed head. It had already been the greater part of three hours of droll paperwork, Grog having nothing to do but sit in his seat, waiting. But he’d promised to be patient, and for Grog… well, three hours would have been a record, he’d been doing very well. 

Not that she’d confess so just yet. That was for After. For now, she was the strict pike, the one with a frown that could bend a god to their knees, the one with titainstone knuckles and a roar that shattered the undead. She was Powerful, and he Knew it.

“Miss--” The word sounded silly in his voice, but he’d confessed to liking it in these situations. She was pretty sure no one else had been called ‘miss’ by him, outside of a handful of ladies-of-the-night. Certainly the only one fortunate enough to hear it on a regular basis. It had been silly enough to make her laugh, the first time he’d cried out, but now it stirred within her, and…. Maybe he had earned a little bit of a reward, after all?

She caved, finally peeking beneath white hair to the far side of the room, where her barbarian sat curled within the seat of the chair, legs tucked up beside him, head curled to rest on his knees, which he hugged tightly. As she’d anticipated, his eyes were locked on the top of her head, waiting for any kind of reaction. She crossed her legs against the building anticipation, though the motion was hidden by the desk. She shifted her pen across the forms-- though she wasn’t really focused on them, not anymore. Though his position hid the majority of it from her, she could see the leather thong which kept him restrained, hugging his waist and thighs. Everything looked a size too small on Grog, even things custom made like this particular piece. It was the design; Scanlan claimed; to be so scant in actual coverage. It was barely a belt, with straps which came from the front and rounded the hips. Supposedly, they served to lift the buttocks, enhance the shape. Looking at him now, taut and ready to burst, she couldn’t imagine it was doing much to help his already perfect figure. In truth, she’d rather just have him walk around without it for things like this, it was just that he couldn’t be trusted without it.

With an exaggerated sigh, she pushed her chair away from the desk. “I wasn’t getting anything done anyway.” She stretched, knowing just the right posture to push her chest forward, a thin shirt all that had been between them and Grog all day. She wasn’t oblivious to those stares, either, and they only served to encourage their presence, hardened nipples pushing against the sheer fabric as if to tease him further. It was enough indication of his state that he didn’t look to her chest as she stretched, still doe-eyed and hoping for eye contact. Only when she rounded the desk did he lift his head, tight hug loosening against his knees, one large leg slipping from the cushion to the floor, revealing the small metal cage which kept him so docile.

Of course, it was “small” in the same way Grog’s mind was. To some? Sure. to Pike? The word barely seemed to match that which it described. She stepped across the room and he shuffled, eager to sit more politely for her, feet flat on the floor, spread so that she could stand between them if she so desired. His hands rested against his knees, though minute twitches in his fingers gave away the desire to reach for himself. She was proud as it was to see him so obediently resisting the urge. 

She took station between his legs, small hands-- in a rather objective sense-- lightly grazing his inner thighs. One leg jumped at the sensation, he schooled the other into stillness. It still pulled a grunt from his chest, and looking up at him, curled so that he looked down at her, she finally broke that stoic expression. Her eyes softened, lips curling at the edges ever so slightly. Fond. When she reached a hand upward, he leaned into it, resting his cheek against her palm as if he craved the soft touch.

“Have you been a good boy?” She petted his lips with her thumb with one hand, his thigh with the other, her hip rest against his calf. Each point of contact was a gift he had earned by an hour of patience-- rounded up-- and he took from each eagerly.

“I have, I have,” he sounded close to bawling. He shifted his hips, a half-buck into the metal chamber which held him confined. Doing as it should, it gave little friction to ease his desire, though the motion gave way to a droplet which spilled against the leather seat. 

She huffed in amusement at this. “Does it feel good?”

“Yeah, but...” His balled fists flexed, and her smile grew. He was just so cute when wrapped around her little finger.

“Do you not like it?”

“I do, but it-- I wanna feel even better...” He pouted.  _ Pouted _ . Stuck his lower lip out like a kid and  _ Serenrae _ that was her weakness. She had to bite her own lip to stop from full out beaming. She stepped away from him, and for a moment she was sure he might burst into tears as her touch fell away. “Come on,” she waved him toward her desk, taking his moment of stupefication to push all the papers aside and haul herself onto the desktop. She swung her legs, tightly pressed together as he stood from his chair, almost stumbling in his eagerness to get to her.

Without asking, he fell to his knees, the soft jangle of the padlock music in Pike’s ears. Even on his knees, he was only so low as to be eye level with her. The distance was perfect to see the faint blush which the lock’s noise caused. She threaded a hand through his beard, favoring the patch of grey on his left jawline. “Just one little thing and you’ll get your reward, alright buddy?”

He nodded vigorously, a giddy grin falling upon his own lips, a reassurance after all the pleading and pouting. He could always say if he was  _ really _ uncomfortable, and in a pinch he was strong enough to rip the damn lock off if he wanted, but it was reassuring all the same to see that he  _ really _ wanted this. She moved her hand up his cheek until it rested upon his scalp, a slight pressure encouraging him to bend his head forward, nose pressing against the seam of her pants. It wasn’t exactly a secret what he had to do to earn his own release, but she clarified anyway, for the blush the words caused against her own cheeks. 

“You just need to help me cum, ok Grog?”

He hummed against the fabric separating them, taking no time at all to take charge, letting Pike remove her hand so that she could instead prop herself up to watch. He buried himself between her thighs, his sheer size causing her legs to spread wide. His warm breath encapsulated her, and even with the obstructive fabric he was eager enough for her taste to press his tongue against her, staining her pants with fat wet patches. He raised large hands to her waist, eyes meeting hers as if asking permission to remove the garment, though he did not pause his suckling.

“Slowly.” She failed to make it sound like an order, more a giggly mess herself in her own readiness to feel him against her. Still, he obeyed, fingers hooking into her belt loops, tugging her pants over her wide hips and shapely ass, only raising his head to pull them past her thighs. 

He paused as the pants slipped down her thighs, white hair neatly framing her pussy, and for a moment he forgot the driving need between his own, and was only there for her. Gods and holiness… they were complicated things, to Grog, even if he’d met a number of gods himself. But this? This was godly. A shift of her posture stirred him awake again, and he slipped the pants further down, faster than he was supposed to. But how could anyone be slow when such a sight was right in front of them?

He slipped the pants down her calves and over her feet, treating them more delicately than he normally would treat a piece of fabric. But these were Pike’s clothes, and so he honored them as if they were a part of her. He even folded them... As much as he could be bothered to. Set aside, there was nothing between him and his… Mistress. Could he say that? Was she his? No, he was hers. 

“Like it?” Pike sounded embarrassed, but why should she? It was all he could do to tear his eyes away from between her legs to see her reddened face, lip teased between her teeth, blue eyes watching him. 

“Yeah.” It was simple… but what else could he say? With gentle fingers-- not because she couldn’t handle him at full strength, but because it would not be Polite to treat her so, he eased her thighs apart. She settled her feet against his shoulders, parting before him. For as torturous as three hours had been for him, a faint wetness built between her lips revealed how much she wanted this, too. With one last look at her soft features, he ducked in, tasting the slight bitterness of Her, the fatness of his tongue wide enough to stoke her fully in one motion. He drank her up, teasing the nub just below her hair, easing his tongue into the velvety depths of her tight hole on each upward pass. The taste was familiar, as was the sheer smallness of her… He’d never truly been with Pike, not as Scanlan had, or as he had been with ladies of lady favors, but even the idea of being buried inside that tight warmth drove him near to a Rage. He tried to imagine himself lined up against her, fully hard his cock must reach her tits, broad enough that he’d surely see its shape inside of her, a bulging shape within her stomach as she cried out beneath him… What he’d do to see that. He’d have to do a really good job to earn that much.

So he kissed and licked her in the ways he knew Pike liked best. Teasing her clit with his tongue in swift darting flicks, sucking it red and easing more wetness from within her. She thrust her hips into his mouth, grinding against the flat of his tongue. With no easy handholds but his ears and beard-- which she decidedly did not consider handholds-- she could only grip at the edge of her desk as she keened forward into his mouth. He kept his hands down at his knees-- though he wanted to hold her legs, feel the softness of her skin, and squeeze the plumpness of her ass in both hands, it was one order he remembered not to break. No hands. It wasn’t that she didn’t like him touching her, he knew. She just liked watching him squirm.

And well, maybe he liked squirming, too. Under her command just about anything could feel good, even not being allowed to touch all the things he wanted to.

“Grog!” She squeaked-- a sound you only got out of her when she was really losing it. Her knuckles were white against the edge of the desk, her hips fully thrust forward into his mouth, thighs clamped against his head, body quivering. Her squeaks turned to moans, to swears, soft “fuck fuck fuck”s that made pride bubble in Grog’s chest. He chased her spasming hips while she rode out the orgasm, catching her hips in his hands to keep her from falling away. It was technically allowed-- Since he was just supporting her, not groping. Though he really wanted to do that, too. At this point she was usually too blissed out to notice if he broke the rules a little.

He kept lapping at her until a second orgasm, announced by a muffled scream-- she had both hands covering her mouth, now that Grog was holding her up. Her shirt was messily raised with the evidence that she’d been squeezing her tits, and Grog silently craved to feel them in his own hands. He squeezed her ass, though it just wasn’t the same.

When her hand found his face, the cue to stop, he eased her to the desk surface, parting from her clit, instead decorating her thighs and belly with light kisses. Her stomach heaved with exertion, the firm muscle beneath feminine softness the best of both worlds, in his eyes. She seemed happy. He was happy to have made her feel good, but the selfish question in the back of his mind crept up:

Had he been good enough to cum, too?

He  _ had _ squeezed her ass, did she notice? Would he be in trouble? The sneaking guilt weighed upon his shoulders, and as Pike caught his breath it swept through him.

“Fuck, Grog,” she spoke to the ceiling, too winded to look down at Grog just yet. She didn’t see the conflict swimming in his eyes, or the way he twisted his fingers together in worry.

He sat stoically, impressively still for someone as clouded with lust as he was. If not for the guilt, and the belt, he might have cum just from watching her. When she finally pushed to a sitting position, she was confused at his downcast eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Her voice was genuinely concerned, breaking the facade of their little scene. For a second, she was just Pike, the little gnome that would do just about anything for her big buddy.

“I cheated,” Grog muttered, voice directed at the floor. She rolled her eyes, and smiled though he did not see it. She’d thought something bad had happened while she’d been wrapped around him, worried she’d kicked him in her bliss throes. It wasn’t like she didn’t feel his hands-- it was hard  _ not _ to. And yes… technically it wasn’t allowed. But it wasn’t enough of a broken rule to lose his prize. After all, it would be just as enjoyable for her, too.

With a grunt, she pushed off of the desk. It was a shame Grog was so lost in his worry, he missed the way her breasts bounced with the motion. She crouched to fall into his line of sight, arms crossed behind her back. Cautiously, his eyes met hers. She smiled.

“You’re not mad?”

She kissed him on the nose, then again, lips pressed against his, waiting for reciprocation. For a giant his kisses were dainty, featherlight and hesitant. She put her hands on his neck, deepening the kiss and pushing her chest against his, letting him feel her body against him, while enjoying the firmness herself. Her ankles brushed against the metal which bound him, and for a moment…

She pulled away from the kiss, only enough so that she could speak, still sharing air with her buddy. “I’m not mad.” She reassured. “You get to cum, but it wouldn’t be fair if you got away with it, would it?”

Reluctantly, he shook his head. A fractional movement, so that he did not move too far from her gaze. 

“So we’ll take the belt off, but no touching the front, ok? You’re gonna cum on my fingers.”

The fact that he was still allowed to cum seemed a blessing enough, to him. His eyes shimmered and he nodded, careful not to thump Pike with the motion. 

“And if you’re good for  _ that, _ ” she grinned, “Maybe we’ll try something we’ve never tried before tomorrow.”

He grinned back, and she kissed his smile. He was just too cute to be mad at. 

It was a quick minute of rearranging for Grog to be postured over her desk, Pike standing aside by the drawers where she kept his key. His ass held high, she had to crouch between his thighs to find and remove the padlock, loosening the leather straps so that they fell away, sliding the metal shield from his cock to reveal it in full. It was a deep shade of grey-blue, deeper than his regular skin tone for all the blood it was engorged with. His balls hung tight and full, hairless as any Goliath would be. Each was the size of her closed fist, his cock the size of her forearm and almost twice as thick. She patted it endearingly, causing Grog to gasp and buck forward. It was all the touch it would be getting for this session, though a promise of more to come, should he be obedient.

From the same drawer which held his key she retrieved a vial of oil, pouring the cool liquid into her palm and slicking her fingers. Grog was a large man, and proportionally her fingers seemed small in comparison **.** It was a shock the first time they’d attempted this, then, how sensitive he was to each finger inserted, the slim digits an overwhelming sensation to his virgin hole. Even now, he was still aware of each knuckle pushed into him, and endearingly sensitive. 

Standing behind him, she could see his cock twitching with desire, his hole flexing with the anticipation of her touch. But framing it all was his ass, and his legs, shaped as if from stone themselves. He really was beautiful, and sometimes she just liked to take it in.

One hand pressed against the crease of his thigh, she pressed the other, oil satisfyingly warmed, against his entrance. She rolled the pads of her fingers over the sensitive flesh in slow, circular motions, hearing him whine at the teasing, watching his head fall forward onto the desk as his focus was pulled solely to her touch. “Relax,” she cooed, a reminder he needed every time.

It took a moment before his tension slackened, and she was able to ease her middle finger into him, pressing the digit deep, a consistent but slow pressure within him. He gasped and she praised him, the hand on his thigh stroking reassuring circles. She began pumping the finger in and out, allowing him to get used to the feeling before crooking it to press against his inner walls. As he relaxed further-- with the assistance of even more oil, even for just the one digit-- she found a comfortable pace, reading the tension in his muscles to determine when he was ready for more. With a second finger, she scissored the entrance, stretching it wider to ease a greater girth into him. As she was so small by comparison, to reach his prostate she would need to have her whole hand inside him. It was no easy task to prepare him, but each grunt and moan sent a shock through her. As much as it might be easier to simply stroke him to completion, this would ultimately be far more satisfying.

Once he got used to her second finger, she added a third, as well as an additional glob of oil, which caused squelching noises at each thrust, stirring something within Pike. as she kneaded her fingers against his insides, she purred adulations, though she wondered if he could hear them over his own soft whispers. 

With a fourth finger, she folded her thumb inward, easing her fist into him in small increments. The bulge of the thumb strained, before with a quick motion and a soft curse from Grog, who raised his head at the sensation, it was in, and she relaxed the conical shape, flexing her fingers slowly within his insides, stretching him to take her shape. It would still be an inch or so before she reached his prostate, but she waited for him to get used to this before delving further. She removed her other hand, drifting instead to her breasts, hand slipping beneath the fabric to tease at the hardened nipples, tugging the supple flesh at the sight of his body encompassing her.

She took this moment to check that he hadn’t been cheating. It was a great deal of focus to stretch him open, and it was possible he’d snuck a few strokes in without her notice. From a glance at the string of drool which connected his cock to the floor, undisturbed by a passing hand, she was proud to determine he’d been obedient. His hands were still positioned where he’d first put them against the edges of the desk, firm grip indenting the wood with sheer force. Proud, she kissed the curve of his ass, muttering more praise he almost certainly did not hear.

When he squirmed against her hand-- pushing her wrist deeper within himself, she knew he was ready, and began the ministration of slow, even thrusts, from the widest point of her thumb to the deepest length of her arm, where she bent her wrist forward to search for his swollen prostate, the large gland a handful to her, which she kneaded delicately at each passing. Soon her even pace grew, fist pumping into his hole and hammering his prostate, ass clenching around her, every inch of her arm squeezed with his pleasure. When he came, he announced it with a plea, the torrent of cum spilling from his member against the front of her desk, pooling before it and around his knees. His insides spasmed, gripping her forearm and fighting against her flexed fingers. Even as he came she continued to massage the gland, until no more cum dribbled out and his whines morphed from needy to oversensitive. His legs, only restrained by sheer willpower, flexed with the intensity of the sensation, his body writhing to flee from her touch while at the same time by brute force alone, refusing to move away. Choked swears bubbled from his mouth, muffled by the wooden surface he lay against.

When she pulled her hand out, he buckled at the thumb, the final moment of pressure foreign to him. When her hand was fully removed, she admired the pulsing gape, red insides vibrant beside his blue-grey flesh, the white film of lubricant streaking both colors and dripping down his balls, joining the pool of cum at the floor. 

She stepped away long enough to retrieve a towel, wiping her arm and setting the towel across the mess beneath Grog’s thighs. Then, she rounded the desk to meet him, kissing his forehead and meeting his eyes, glazed with pleasure. “Feel good?” she asked, admiring the dazed look.

“ ‘s good...” he grumbled through the fog, blinking it away as if remembering something. He moved to sit up straighter, though stopped, remembering Pike was short enough that he wouldn’t need to sit up to meet her gaze. “I didn’t touch,” He sounded proud, but the underlying question was apparent. She found herself tangling her fingers in his beard once more, scratching just below the chin, and kissed his nose once more. “You didn’t touch,” she agreed. “You earned something big, for that.”


End file.
